PROMETHEUS BOUND
CHORUS
Of these twain things make one a grace to her,
To me the other, and put not these my words
To shame, but unto her do thou unfold
The remnant of her pilgrimage, to me
Him that shall loose thee:—this is my desire.
PROMETHEUS
Since ye are instant, I will not contend,
But utter all that ye require. And first,
That labour of much going many ways,
Io, it falls to unfold thee, which do thou
Grave in the mindful tables of thy heart.
So soon as thou shalt pass that stream, the bourne
Of continent and continent, toward 790
The East flame-flooded, trodden of the sun,
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[Press forthright. First to the winds that way shall bring thee,
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